Two's Company
by Mikkeneko
Summary: After a bioengineered virus lays him low, Steve Rogers gets an unexpected visit from the God of Mischief. Steve/Loki, sickness, gift fic.


**Title**: Two's Company  
**Pairing**: Loki/Steve  
**Author's Notes**: A short giftfic I wrote for a friend who wanted hurt/comfort with sick characters.

* * *

This was a chapter of his life that Steve thought he'd left behind, along with creaky humidifiers, sitting on the bleachers while the other kids played football, and 'cure-alls' purchased from the down-alley markets that never seemed to do much. Lying on a bleached white bed in a bleached white room, counting the cracks in the bleached white ceiling while his lungs itched and fizzed and tried their damndest to shake their way out of his ribcage. While his head throbbed, and his vision swam, and his throat and jaw felt so swollen it made swallowing a torture.

When he'd come out of his coffin in Erskine's lab he'd been a new man, one that left behind that illness-wracked boy. He hadn't had so much as a sniffle since then, not so much as a charley horse no matter how hard he pushed himself. He'd been free of the tyranny of ordinary illnesses, or so he thought.

Well, so he thought, and so he was. But that still left the field open for _extra-_ordinary illnesses, and in his line of work, he was all too much a candidate. This particularly nasty bug had come courtesy of the Serpent; they'd found an island base off the coast of the Florida Keys where a few masked goons were cooking up a nasty biological weapon, to be deployed when the time was right.

They'd taken out the scientists first thing. That had been easy. But before they'd gone down they'd managed to rig up a self-destruct in the hot room that would have blown their new super-bug halfway across the Deep South. They couldn't ahve gotten protective clothing there in time, and the virus would have killed any normal human. So Steve had gone in alone.

It hadn't killed him, at least. (Steve tried not to think, 'so far.') But even the metabolism of a super soldier was struggling to fight this one off. So here he was, back in an isolation room in Silver Springs, waiting for the virus to either run its course, or finish him off. (Steve tried not to almost wish it would. That was selfish, and cowardly.)

The worst part of it was the damn loneliness. A virus that could take down Captain America would, without question, be the death of any ordinary humans who were exposed to it. All the nurses who came to attend to him were swathed in heavy biotainer gear; it didn't allow for much in the way of conversation, and their plastic-wrapped hands were cold and clammy as they swapped out IVs and brought factory-sealed trays of unappetizing food.

Tony had come to see him once; Steve appreciated that. He'd come clanking into the sickroom fully dressed in his suit, and clowned it up for half an hour before the doctors threw him out (and, hopefully, into a decontamination shower.) Steve did appreciate the effort he went to, but he wasn't really hoping for a repeat visit; Tony was exhausting at the best of times, and Steve just wasn't up to dealing with Tony's... Tonyness.

So instead he read, with the words of the page swimming in his vision, and listened to the radio quietly, and wished for this to be over.

The radio was his first warning; static crept into the signal, breaking up and washing out the jazz tunes. Then the lights; first dimmed, then brightening as though the tide of electricity had receded and then surged. As though a great wave of power had rolled up through the walls.

Steve dropped his book in his lap and struggled to sit up as a green cloud coalesced by the side of the bed. There was a buzzer by the side of his bed if he needed to call for help - but he didn't. He'd seen this happening enough times to know what it meant, and even in his debilitated state, he knew there was no reason to fear.

Loki was frowning stormily as his features resolved out of the smoke, his posture and armor bristling of upset and offense. "What is this?" he hissed, looking around and taking in the Spartan accomodations.

Steve lapsed back into his bed, a dry chuckle the only thing he could force out of his pained throat. "What does it look like, Lokes?" he rasped out.

Loki sneered. "It _looks_ like the pathetic leechcrafters of this benighted realm are falling down on the job," he spat angrily. "What has happened to you? Why are you not yet healed? You told me that you do not _get_ sick - you _promised_ me that you are not frail, as other mortals are -"

_You promised me that you wouldn't leave me_, lingered unspoken in his brilliant green eyes. Steve ignored the venom and the posturing, reached out to lay one hand on Loki's armored sleeve. "I promise that I didn't get sick just to spite you," he said, his voice mild.

Loki stiffened under Steve's hand, but did not shake it off. He snorted and said, "No, you would not. No doubt instead you brought yourself low in some idiotically self-sacrificing fashion, subjecting yourself to the most stringent of dangers so that others would not risk so much as a scratch -"

Steve had to admit, Loki knew him well. "I can handle a little flu," he said, pulling his hand back. "But I don't want to get anyone else sick. You should go -"

That was as far as he got before Loki stooped swiftly over the bed, his mouth fastened on Steve's. Steve's protests were muffled and inarticulate, and his attempts to pull back and push Loki away were feeble. He could just about go toe-to-toe with Loki in strength at his best, but that was definitely not today.

After a moment, he relaxed into the kiss. Loki's mouth was cool and tingling, tasting almost of mint, and the coolness trickled from Loki's tongue into his mouth and soothing the hot, painful hardness of his throat. When Loki finally consented to release him, he fell back against the pillows with a gasp. " - Loki," he protested. "What if this thing spreads to you? Even if you're not technically a human, it might - it could -"

Loki snorted disgust. "I am an Asgardian and a wielder of seidr," he said. "I have nothing to fear from such a garden-variety malaise. And even if I were by some chance to sicken, I would merely retire to Asgard and avail myself of their healing magics. In fact," he said, green eyes lighting up with inspiration, "perhaps I shall do that anyway."

"I thought Odin didn't approve of using healing magic on mortals?" Steve asked, remembering Jane Foster's account of her own uncanny illness and soujourn in Asgard.

"I wasn't planning to solicit his permission," Loki said dryly. "Unlike other proud warriors I, at least, have the sense to know what medical technology looks like. Very well. I shall return -"

"No, don't go!" Steve protested, reaching out and grabbing onto Loki's hand as he prepared to pull away. The last thing he wanted was for his boyfriend to leave him here - alone and hurting, miserable and weak. He hadn't wanted to expose Loki to the virus but since it was too late for that, he also didn't want Loki to run off and get himself into trouble on his behalf. More selfishly than that, he didn't want Loki to _go_.

Loki stopped in mid-cast, looking down at Steve with surprise. Then his expression softened - it transformed his whole face with an inner light, the harsh angular features transmuting subtly into something else. "Very well," he said after a long moment. "I shall remain. If your condition worsens, however, I will not solicit _your_ permission, either."

"That sounds fine by me," Steve agreed hopefully. "Um. As long as you're here, I don't suppose you could... read a little? I've been trying to get through this book," Steve said, raising a copy of 'The Fellowship of the Ring' that Sam had lent him, "you know, to catch up on everything I missed... But it's kinda hard to, well. Focus."

Loki took the book out of his hands, frowning at it as he flipped a few pages. "This juvenile nonsense will entertain you?" he asked rhetorically. "Very well, then. Where did you leave off?"

Steve had to think for a moment to remember; he'd read the last few passages so many times without really seeing them, that he'd lost track. "Uh... Frodo and Glorfindel had just reached the ford," he prompted helpfully.

Loki waved one hand negligently, and a plush green armchair sprang into existence beside the bed. He seated himself, crossing one booted leg over his knee, and flipped open the book one hand. " 'At that moment there came a roaring and a rushing: a noise of loud water rolling many stones. Dimly Frodo saw the river below him rise, and down along its course there came a plumed cavalry of waves. White flames seemed to Frodo to flicker on their crests and he half fancied that he saw amid the water white riders upon white horses with frothing manes...' "

Steve closed his eyes, letting Loki's melodic voice rise and fall around him like the flooding river. A soothing coolness fell upon his pillow; Loki's free hand, weaving in among his sweat-soaked hair and stroking his too-tight scalp as he read aloud.

* * *

~end.


End file.
